Page 23 of Swan Song

“It’s about growing up in Rosebush, Arkansas,” Coco says. “It’s basically my life story.”

“Would you let me read it?” Kacy asks.

“Would you want to?”

“Are you kidding me?” Kacy says. “I’ll be able to say I knew you when.”

Coco lets herself get swept up by Kacy’s enthusiasm for a second, though she’s terrified. Kacy will be her first reader. What if she hates it? Worse, what if she pretends to like it?

A bank of clouds rolls in, and the wind picks up. “Should we head home?” Kacy asks.

“Already?” Coco says. “We drove all the way out here. And I could use a nap.”

Kacy is feeling dozy as well. If Coco isn’t complaining about the weather, Kacy shouldn’t either. She’s the native Nantucketer, hale and hearty. She lies down on the blanket next to Coco and closes her eyes. But the wind whips sand into Kacy’s face, which feels like ten thousand tiny needles.

“Let me move the Jeep,” Kacy says, “so that it blocks the wind.”

Coco has her eyes closed and doesn’t answer.

Kacy climbs in the Jeep and throws it into reverse, but it won’t budge. She senses she’s about to face a reckoning. She hits the gas a little harder; the tires spin, chewing deeper into the sand. She shifts the car into drive, though she has to be careful because the front of the Jeep is dangerously close to the water. Was she really that careless, or has the tide come in? Both, she thinks. The Jeep edges forward a few inches and Kacy is heartened. She moves up a bit more, thinking, Forget the wind block, I just need to get the Jeep on firmer ground. But she succeeds only in putting her front two tires into wet sand, which is very bad. She tries to back up—nope. She turns the wheel, but this takes her closer to the water.

No! she thinks.

Coco is now on her feet. “Can I help?”

Kacy says, “I’ve got it,” and her voice is still sort of cheerful because she’ll figure it out. Let’s not forget, she grew up driving on this beach! Her father taught her that if she ever got stuck, she should let more air out of the tires. Kacy does this only in the back because the front tires are in a sucking wet morass. Her only hope is to back up.

She throws the car in reverse with her teeth clenched. Her tires spray sand all over Coco, who shrieks and jumps out of the way. The car doesn’t move.

Kacy climbs out and gazes down the beach. There’s normally a ranger making sure that nobody hangs out in the delicate ecosystem of the dunes or lights an illegal bonfire or gets herself stuck at the water’s edge like a person who has never driven on a beach before. But it might be too early in the season for a ranger. Kacy grabs her cell phone, thinking she’ll call her father and he’ll contact the gatehouse, and Pamela can come to their rescue. Kacy will have to eat a big plate of Look at Miss Smarty-Pants, but fine, whatever.

Kacy’s phone has no service.

“Do you have service?” she asks Coco.

Coco checks her phone. “No. Why, are we in trouble?”

The Jeep is stuck in soft sand and the tide is rolling in. Yes, they’re in trouble.

“Someone’s coming,” Coco says.

Sure enough, in the far distance, Kacy sees a truck trundling up the beach, probably settled in the tracks Kacy blazed. Kacy hopes the truck drives all the way out here instead of turning off to Coatue or Coskata Pond. She’s tempted to jump up and down and wave her arms. Then she does—because what are their options? Walking the three miles back from the beach? Hoping a boat comes close enough to notice them?

“Hey!” Kacy shouts, but the wind carries her voice out to sea. Coco joins her, the two of them flailing their arms. Suddenly the truck flashes its lights and speeds up.

“He sees us,” Coco says.

“Or she,” Kacy says. “It’s probably Pamela.”

But it’s not Pamela. The truck is a black F-150 pickup with a couple of casting rods sticking out of a PVC pipe rack on the front grille. Behind the wheel is a guy, and not just a guy, but… Kacy blinks… Lamont Oakley, who was her date for both the junior prom and senior banquet in high school. What is Lamont Oakley doing here? Last Kacy heard, he was off sailing in places like the Whitsunday Islands and Capri.

Lamont jumps out of the truck. He has… wow, definitely changed—matured, grown up, gotten smoke-show hot. He’s completely ripped; his white polo strains over his broad chest and biceps, and his jeans fit perfectly. Ha! Kacy can’t believe Lamont Oakley is now giving leading-man when all through high school he was a math nerd. He was also the best sailor the island had ever seen, though ironically, hardly anyone at Nantucket High School cared about sailing. They’d all taken free lessons in second grade but for the most part, it was viewed as a pastime for summer people. Lamont’s sailing commitments kept him very busy and regimented; he was, therefore, the perfect match for Kacy. They’d gone home early from the junior prom because Lamont had a regatta in Newport the next day. The following year they went to the senior banquet together, but it was just as friends. At that point, Lamont was dating the skipper for the Georgetown sailing team, a woman he’d met on a recruiting trip, and Kacy was relieved because that meant she didn’t have to worry about kissing him.

“Kacy Kapenash!” he says. When he hugs her, he lifts her off the ground, which is sort of thrilling. “You’re the last person I expected to see out here. I thought you lived in California.”

“I do,” Kacy says. “I did. Long story.”

“Hey,” Coco says, extending a hand. “I’m Coco. Nice to meet you.”

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